


a cherry that has no stone

by augustdepot



Series: the riddle song [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Breeding Kink, Canon Asexual Character, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Canon, Post-Post-Apocalype, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, slight praise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27550513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/augustdepot/pseuds/augustdepot
Summary: “Even if we couldn’t appreciate it then, we’ll get to the next time,” Jon says around a yawn. It takes almost a full minute of silence for him to notice what he’s let slip. He closes his eyes and holds his breath to keep himself shouting in despair. “Well.”jon wants to get pregnant again, martin finds out jon wants to get pregnant again, jon and martin find out oh they're into that actually, then they have sex about it(now featuring chapter two, where they do more sex and there's Lore)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: the riddle song [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2185185
Comments: 38
Kudos: 249





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is some sub-par self indulgent nonsense, because i keep seeing breeding kink on twitter and losing my mind, and i think trans men (me, i am the transmen) should get to enjoy it too. please excuse how sloppy and wordy it is, as it was mostly written on the clock because i hate my boss and wanted to waste his money.
> 
> please excuse the fact that it's like 60% jon archivist's train of thought rambling and reminiscing when there could be actual stuff happening.
> 
> for reference, jon is trans, words used include: chest, breasts, tits, cock, cunt, and entrance.
> 
> he is asexual (obviously), of the subgenre where his body is horny and his brain is in love with martin so why not use the martin to soothe the horny? he trusts martin and they're in love and jon wants to get off, two sexy birds and one sexy stone???
> 
> title is from an old lullaby called the riddle song that makes me emotional every time

Jon has been running his fingers over the single patch of stretch marks under his navel for nearly an hour by the time Martin makes it to the bedroom. It’s a sweet reminder, after the hair from his chest has faded and before it starts again between his hips, a little patch of scar tissue to mark where his body gave way for a person - a whole person! a baby! _their_ baby! - to take shape. The little plot makes him feel like he’s allowed to have this. It’s his right to doze off to Martin’s low chatter over the monitor, aggressively appreciating what he was able to make.

As the door closes behind Martin, Jon manages to rouse himself enough to ask, “Asleep?”

“Hm?” Martin pauses with his jeans hanging from one leg. “Oh, yeah, asleep. Just needed a bit of coddling today.” He shakes himself free and clambers into bed.

“Spoiling, you mean.” Jon presses his palm flat against his stomach. It’s softer than it used to be. Padded with loose skin, what little fat he managed to keep. Pleasantly textured with healed tears.

Martin situates himself on his side and inches closer until he can place his hand over Jon’s. “Babies should be babied,” he says, as though explaining to Jon that the sky does, in fact, appear blue on sunny days. “No better time, really. Can’t imagine I’ll get away with it half as well once we have a teenager. Besides, you don’t exactly have a frame of reference for anything at this age - teething can’t be easy when you’ve never really experienced feelings besides milk and sleepy and dad. Might as well lend an ear for grievances.”

Jon hums and drums his fingers best he can under Martin’s. “Are we still at baby?”

“What?”

“Are we still in baby, or have we moved to toddler? Thirteen months is past baby, right? Almost-walking, almost-talking.” He lets his head fall sideways so he can look at Martin. “I think I know this for sure, just not right now.”

Martin laughs. “Too worn out to remember any of the thirty books on the shelf at the moment? Honestly, I’m surprised you’re still up.”

“Mm. Just not ready to sleep yet. My head’s somewhere else.”

“Where’s that?”

He pulls his hand free and drags Martin’s until his fingertips are tracing the same path over his stretch marks. It’s even nicer like this. “I was remembering the growing-a-baby part, not the growing-up part, ‘swhy I don’t know which stage we’re in.”

Martin’s hand continues its arc before settling flat, the way Jon’s had just before. He huffs.

“Seeing you pregnant was weird. Not like about you being a man, never _that_ ,” he hurries to correct. “I mean like… I don’t know, a caveman sort of way? At the very end when you were just stomping around in my old tee shirts and being a menace -”

“As was my right,” Jon notes.

“As was your right!” Martin nods solemnly. “An entirely justified menace. But I would look at you, slouched down on the sofa with a mug balanced _just right_ until it got kicked, trying to run the whole show, making lists and double checking everything was taken care of, cross-referencing all your books, telling me what needs doing, and on top of that you were about the size of a barge -”

Jon scoffs, making a show of being offended. “Eight pounds and twelve ounces, I was hauling around -”

“An entirely justified barge! But… I don’t know, there you were, wearing my clothes, and _growing our kid_ , and trusting me to be a part of it, and it was just… _weird_ , this like, Big Tough Neanderthal Man brain that kept saying that I did that. _I_ did it, _I’m_ having a baby with _Jonathan Sims,_ and you can see, right there, plain as day, for anyone who doubts it.”

“Oh, yes, tough man,” Jon laughs, overjoyed at this admission. “So fierce. You did do it, didn’t you, big strong -”

“Yeah, okay, I get it. My cro-magnon possessive instincts are very funny.” Martin shakes him gently with the hand on his stomach, then pulls him in tight.

Jon uses the new position to kiss along Martin’s jaw, no motives in mind past enjoying his husband’s face being near.

“I liked you watching me,” he says when he’s certain he’s been thorough in his affection. “Like I was worth looking at. It was good, feeling like you thought I was strong enough to get through it.”

Martin hums against Jon’s temple and squeezes him somehow closer. “We had been through considerably worse than that by then, of course I thought you could get through it.”

“Says the one who didn’t have to actually shove a whole human out of him.”

“True. But child rearing has, to date, been _drastically_ easier than any of the spooky shit,” Martin maintains. He punctuates each part of his list with a kiss to Jon’s face: “No mysterious doors. Fewer worms per capita. Less stabbing. Completely normal eyeball activity. No dogs in your paperwork. No cops in your paperwork!”

Jon waves a hand in defeat. “Yes, yes, alright, fine. A walk in the park, this parenting thing.”

“Practically a picnic. Well. I say _picnic_ like we didn’t end up sitting in bed, all three of us crying, at least three times a day for the first month."

Jon shoves him. "There was a lot happening."

Martin follows the shove and rolls to his back. "Our biggest issue right then was keeping a stockpile of wipes and clean clothes.” Martin flicks Jon’s chest gently. “And keeping you from chapping.”

“Well, see, you’ve just admitted I was justified in _my_ crying. They hurt all the time. There was _bleeding,_ Martin. Might as well cry over it. Don’t know what the two of you had to go on about.”

Martin tilts his head and pretends to consider. “Mm. One of us was still upset at being birthed and I just don’t like being left out.”

“Well, in that case it’s forgivable, I suppose.”

“Glad you agree.” Martin laughs brightly. Over a long moment, his expression takes a wistful turn. “I do wish that I’d… I guess... savored it more? With everything, it was like… I don’t know. We were such a mess, and we didn’t get to have the _typical pregnancy experience_. What other parents do, being excited, not just absolutely terrified, the happy stuff that comes before you’re actually genuinely parents. We just… bought in bulk and lived like those bunker people.” 

“Even if we couldn’t appreciate it then, we’ll get to the next time,” Jon says around a yawn. It takes almost a full minute of silence for him to notice what he’s let slip. He closes his eyes and holds his breath to keep himself shouting in despair. “Well.”

Good. Good, _great_ , this is wonderful. He’d meant to hold onto that. God, nearly two years later and he never even asked if Martin wanted the one they have, let alone _more_. He'd been an incredible parent - perfect, even! - but Jon hadn't considered before that it might have been through obligation, not until dropping this on him. At the time it had just been happening. They were irresponsible and then they had a baby and there had been no discussion at all of other options.

At least he hasn't said anything; maybe he didn't hear?

Jon feels himself welling up and finally turns to see the reaction he caused; Martin’s eyes are wide and watery, too, and his voice shakes when he asks, “Do you want to?”

“I...” Jon opts for honesty, in the sense that he honestly wants to avoid a difficult conversation tonight. “I don’t know what answer I’m supposed to give here.”

“Just the truth, what you really want. Do you?” Martin’s face gives nothing away. Or, it likely does, but Jon’s too worked up now to sort out his tells, considering he tends to go pink and doe-eyed when he feels any way but angry. “Jon, do you want to have another baby?”

He can’t say it, now that this passive daydream is becoming a real possibility, so instead he nods.

“Okay,” Martin laughs. “Okay, yeah.” He reaches for Jon’s face to pull him into a teary kiss, then another, and another, until they can’t continue for smiling.

* * *

Jon wonders if they’ll have the same luck as before. He thinks he’s judged the timing right - they hadn’t had sex again for long enough after the first time that it lines up. If they stopped there, it would have left them with a truly impressive rate of conception, 50 to 100 percent of sexual contact, depending if that night counted as one or two. Could have gone out on top. Champions. Incredible job all around.

God, it’s even more impressive that they managed it after Jon’s rambling, nonsensical proposition - how was it? Thirty minutes of nervous chatter along the lines of _I’m not attracted to you but I do like you, a lot, if I’m honest, and it still feels nice, and my body is still horny sometimes, well, a lot of times, recently it may be for you, actually, it’s complicated, I haven’t explored it much with genuine romantic interest, but things are very bad right now, not with you, you’re perfect, also I am transgender and I’ve heard you mention you’re gay and sometimes that doesn’t go well for people like me so maybe you’re the sort that isn’t actually okay about it, not that I think you’re like that, I think you’re lovely, and I’m getting sidetracked, what I mean to say is we should have sex._ And Martin still went along with it, after all that.

Terrible odds in all directions but they managed it first (or maybe second) try.

When considering it, obviously, he knows their results won’t be nearly _that_ good. He’s well aware that it won’t be immediate. He knows there are reasons to keep his expectations low.

Firstly, their opportunities for time alone still aren’t as frequent as they’d like with a teething toddler. Nights without interruption are few, especially in the midst of the raging double ear infection that consumed all last week and continues to linger. More than once they’ve been interrupted by cries of _Mamamamama_ over the monitor. 

(It still gets a laugh each time, even when it’s frustrating - that particular chorus is Jon’s own fault for only using ‘Martin’ in front of the baby, who had started to pick it up, which had yet to be corrected because Jon finds it very funny that their child’s first attempt at speech was calling him by his given name. If it also helped Jon navigate the vague, formless anxiety of paternal nomenclature dysphoria, even better; Martin was unbothered with being handed Ma and letting Jon have Da, because they never looked into alternatives and hadn’t remembered that the kid would need to call them _something_ until it happened. Seems a bit late to change now.)

And then, even if they manage a few hours without a meltdown over the nightmare of toddlerhood and not exhausted from the thrills of parenthood, he needs to talk to his doctor about his request for testosterone - he only recently brought up starting again, and the kidnappings, coma, and following mess had taken the responsibility of stopping off of him the first go round. No matter how ready he is to get back, it could be pushed off a bit longer for the right reasons.

Besides all this, it won’t happen until his birth control is handled. They’d been diligent about oral contraceptives, since one brief panic over a broken condom shortly after Jon had felt recovered enough for sex, leaving them terrified they might end up with a newborn _and_ a twelve month old, regardless of the low risk. Jon took pride in how attentive he had been with his pills since then, and his body would need time to adjust. And it took ages for some people who had never bothered with preventative measures in the first place. Years in some cases. Never, in others.

No. Positive thoughts. Maybe it’ll be easy! It must be, seeing as it’s actually on purpose this time, not the byproduct of their first quick, irresponsible, tearful encounter.

It won’t take months of trying. He _hopes_ it won't take months of trying.

Well. If it did, that wouldn’t be _so_ bad. At least the trying would be fun.

So Jon gets an idea.

A week after the admission that yes, actually, he _would_ like another baby, Martin, if you could put one in him immediately, Jon finds himself reveling in the silence of the house. Their child is asleep, their chores are caught up, and Martin is lounging against the headboard, half-way attempting to read about someone too boring to deserve a whole biography.

So Jon takes the book and marks the page with a receipt from the bedside table, because he’s nothing if not courteous. Then, he climbs over Martin’s slouched form to settle into his lap. If he bears down when he does, well, all the better. Once he has his arms around Martin’s neck he steels himself- the idea of Martin getting him pregnant, knowingly, on purpose, might have had him wet since late afternoon. He can’t let it distract him yet.

He’ll present it quickly, float the idea to let Martin know it’s something on the table for later, and get off a few times before bed. An immaculate plan.

He begins his pitch.

“Martin.” Solid start. Proves he knows his audience.

“Jon.”

“I’ve been thinking, Martin.” 

“Have you, Jon?”

“I have.” Martin’s hands slide up Jon’s thighs and come to rest just below the band of his joggers, before they meet skin. Bodes well for the getting off bit. Will sidetrack the talking bit very quickly. Oh, his thumbs are brushing Jon’s hips now. Adjustment: is actively sidetracking the talking bit.

“What have you been thinking about?”

“You’ll recall we had a discussion recently,” Jon says with what little confidence he can muster.

“We’ve had a lot of discussions.” He’s being pulled down gently to feel where Martin is beginning to show interest. He knows, with Martin’s hands on his waist, he could be lifted and placed wherever Martin would like him with little effort. “Which one were you thinking of?”

“A conversation about some experiences we would both appreciate.”

One of Martin’s hands drifts over to Jon’s stomach and presses firmly against it, over the little patch of soft, thin skin and stretch marks. Jon realizes he should _not_ present ideas in bed unless they can be completely outlined in one sentence. Or, he should just condense this into one sentence. Well, he won't be able to summarize that much with Martin's hand coasting up to slide his fingertips just under the elastic of Jon’s bra.

“Oh?” 

“Some things we would like to see again.”

“What sort of things are we talking about?”

Jon is aware he’s being teased. Martin’s clever; he looks carefully confused in a way that means he’s waiting for Jon to tell him what he already guessed.

“If you would let me know, maybe I could help.” Oh, it’s nearly a _dare_. They should probably be a bit more thorough in their negotiation but Jon’s yearned for this all day. It would be nice to do something about it instead of absent-mindely rubbing his thighs together when he should be putting away leftover pasta. “Whatever you need.” Jon feels his hips shifting at this, and Martin begins rocking him against his stiffening cock.

“How can I help? Tell me and we’ll do something about it.”

Maybe he will. He’d read the bit in the book Martin had pointedly marked for him, about asking for what you want. Being direct with what you’re looking for. Communication is key and all that.

Well. Needs must. Jon takes a deep breath.

“I want another baby. And I’m asking you to come inside me as many times as is necessary until it takes and I get what I want.”

“ _Oh, fuck_ .” Jon assumes that’s the job done when Martin bucks beneath him. “I can’t _believe_ you just said that.”

“You asked.” He doesn’t rattle Martin like this anymore, not since their first time, when he’d been red-faced and stuttering after Jon touched his thigh. The shyness had only lasted until Jon’s pants had come off - Jon likes managing their day-to-day life, but since then he’s known full well who’s in charge through the bedroom door. That said, it's nice knowing he’s still got a few surprises left in him. “Too much?”

Martin flips them over to kiss him for the first time that night. It’s open-mouthed and filthy in a way that has Jon whining within seconds. Jon can’t help but press his heels into Martin’s back and pull, wanting to feel how hard Martin is, desperate for his weight against him. Martin turns his face away to breathe, saying, “I would tell you how _not_ too much it was but my brain is blood-free as of thirty seconds ago.”

“So that’s a yes?” Jon still manages to sound smug despite his panting.

“ _Yes, it’s a yes,_ you bastard, lift up so I can get these off.” Martin tugs at Jon’s waistband, drags both layers off at once, tosses them to the side. Jon sits up to remove his shirt and arches his back as he pulls his tight sports bra over his head. Even after weaning, there’s still enough weight in his chest for a showy little bounce and the display is sure to be appreciated. He knows it’s successful when Martin scratches at the sparse hair leading down toward his stomach before cupping his breasts and pushing them together, thumbnails catching his nipples. 

Usually, Martin luxuriates in foreplay, which is fortunate for Jon, who quite enjoys sitting back and letting it happen - Martin’s mouth on his hips, his stomach, his tits. Hot breath glancing over his cock before teeth pull at the skin of his thighs. Broad hands holding his legs open or pushing them up to his ribs, Martin's tongue teasing along -

No. Tonight, Jon has a goal and little patience for wasting time.

“Get moving, I want you inside me.”

Martin makes a noise somewhere between a moan and a wheeze. “ _Jesus,_ Jon, where is this coming from?” He’s in such a rush to strip that he nearly tumbles off the bed.

“You said to tell you what I want. I want you to give me a baby and I want you to do it-”

Jon cuts off with a long moan as he's shoved back and two of Martin’s fingers push inside him, thumb brushing his cock. His other hand rests low on Jon's stomach to stop him rolling his hips. “Okay. Okay, let me just…”

“ _Hurry up._ ” If he wasn’t so desperate he would delight in how flustered Martin is. Jon doesn’t push like this - every other night he’s happy to let Martin lead him where he pleases, grateful to be along for the ride. He isn’t sure he’ll like it more than once but. C’est la vie and all. “If you want to get me pregnant you won’t do it like that.”

Martin visibly lurches then seems to decide the best way to shut Jon up is with his mouth. He kisses him with little finesse and boundless enthusiasm, grinding his cock into Jon’s thigh. When Jon is no longer inclined to keep talking, he mouths his way down to Jon’s jaw, his throat, his shoulder. He presses his lips to Jon’s breasts, teasing around his nipples but never quite touching as Jon tugs at his hair in a futile attempt to drag him where he wants. Soon, Jon moans softly with every exhale, thoroughly distracted by the heat building in his stomach. Martin slides in a third finger and picks up the pace. He bends them with each motion but only just brushes the places Jon needs.

“I’ll give you what you want, Jon. You know I will. If you want a baby I’ll give it to you. I’ll fill you up until there’s no doubt, I promise. But if you want me to fit, you’ll have to be patient while I get you ready, okay?”

Jon nods frantically, content to hand over the reins for a moment, now he’s getting what he’s asked for. Martin sits up to pull Jon into his lap and wrap Jon’s legs around his waist. He strokes Jon’s cock with two fingers in time with his thrusts. Jon’s good hand grasps the sheet while his other arm falls over his eyes. The sight of Martin’s prick, hard and leaking, is too much paired with the feel of it against his leg. He lifts his hips to meet Martin’s movements and his toes curl against the soft curve of Martin’s hips.

“You’re doing so well, Jon, letting me do this. You’re being so good. You know I’ll do this for you, I’ll get you pregnant if that’s what you want, so you can wait and let me do what I need to, right?"

“Please, _please,_ I’m ready, I promise, Martin, please-”

Martin cuts Jon off with a harsh turn of his wrist and curl of his fingers. “You can do it, Jon, I know you can, just another minute. You’re being so patient, it’s just the practice you need. It takes time to get pregnant, you know that. We’ll have to do this over and over.”

Jon holds back a wail. He knows down to his bones that Martin will take care of him, but he needs more, he’s asked for it, it’s just in reach, if Martin would move his hand and push into -

“But you can wait, because you know it’ll be worth it, won’t it, Jon? When your clothes get tighter until you’re stuck with the leftovers I give you. When your tits are full and sore. When I have to fuck you on your hands and knees because you’re just too big to have it any other way, and I’m left to hold you up because you’re so heavy with our baby. When we walk into town and everyone sees, and they know exactly what we’ve done. They know you asked me to fill you up, until you’re carrying ou-”

Jon’s legs quiver, his back arches, his mouth can’t close around his gasping. He can feel himself coming to a high and pushes back on the bed. He throws one arm forward to hold Martin’s wrist.

“ _Stop_ ,” he says, heaving in deep breaths. Martin freezes immediately. “Not until you’re inside me, I don’t want to finish until you’re inside me.”

Martin slumps in relief. “God, you scared me, I thought I went too far. Okay, are you sure you’re alright? That was-”

“I’m fine, it was good, no more stretching, I can take it, I want to feel you, please, Martin.”

“I’ve barely started, you’re going to-”

“Please.” Usually he would wait. Martin barely had three fingers in him, not even spreading them, too focused on teasing. Last time Jon was so impatient he spent two days sore and cranky, with Martin crowing _I told you so_ whenever he complained. “I just want to feel you now, _please_.”

“Okay. Okay.” Martin snatches a pillow to rest under Jon’s hips then carefully arranges him. He fills his hand from the bottle in his nightstand and Jon could drown in the vision of Martin stroking himself, considerate still despite the wet spot already staining the bed. He's near dizzy with anticipation by the time Martin hovers over him to rest at his entrance, just shy of giving him what he wants. Martin props himself up to make sure Jon is looking at him when he says, “You have to tell me if it hurts, alright? You usually let me prep more than this. Promise me, if it’s too much-”

“I will. _I will,_ I swear.” Jon digs up the last of his earlier determination and pulls at Martin’s waist with his heels. “You said you were putting a baby in me, why aren’t you doing it?”

And Martin sinks in, knocking the wind out of him.

Martin is, to put it simply, well equipped. Jon loves the stretch, as he always does, and his excitement isn’t tempered in the slightest; however, the undercurrent of discomfort reminds him why they tend to put more effort into preparation. Usually, Martin’s insistence on spoiling him with his hands and his mouth and at least one orgasm ensures it’s an easy fit. Jon is just shy of average stature, and Martin is _not_ , and enthusiasm only takes them so far when trying to fit something Jon frequently insists is the size of his thigh.

It’s worth it, though, the thrill of feeling his body opening itself, changing its configuration almost too much under this careful attention. He sees flashes of all the other ways his body will change, had changed once already, with Martin’s help and clenches down hard enough that Martin curses above him. By the time he’s halfway inside, Jon is shaking with need and whimpers, high and thin, with each exhale. He’s worked himself up so much he can’t relax, contracting enough that Martin pauses.

“Do you want to stop?” Martin asks hoarsely. He’s picked up on the tension, of course he has, and stopped moving. Jon notices the tremors where his fingers clutch Martin’s back, no doubt from the effort to keep perfectly still.

Jon shakes his head. He digs his heels in to ground himself. “Please keep going,” he says into Martin's chest. “I can do it.”

“I’m sure you _can,_ but if we need to take a minute we will, or if we need to end it here we will.”

“Keep going, it’s not because I want to stop, I’m just - I just need - keep going, please."

Martin trusts him enough to accept it. He moves in easy, gentle rolls, never pushing further until Jon nods his head for more. Jon pants out little helpless whines against Martin’s collar with each motion, savoring every inch gained. And soon, Martin is fully inside. It isn't a new sensation, but it's one he treasures. Martin pressed against him, so deep he can feel it between his lungs, holding him down so he doesn't disappear completely. 

Martin is patient; he waits until Jon loses his tension, starts shifting his hips and pulling at his back. After that, it’s out of Jon’s hands.

The pace is even and steady, and Martin's strokes are deep enough that each leaves Jon struggling to catch his breath. It’s always overwhelming in a way he can’t believe - Martin is inside him, in his body, he’s _inside him._ It’s Martin pressing kisses along his temple, Martin’s hands cradling his head, Martin’s cock dragging heavy and hard in his cunt.

One of Martin’s hands twists into Jon’s hair to pull him back, forcing him to meet his eyes. Before Jon can react, Martin picks up speed, lends a desperate tone to his movements. Every thrust forces a wail from Jon’s lips. His fingernails dig into Martin’s back. He grinds up into each motion, searching for the peak he’d abandoned in pursuit of this sensation. One of Martin’s arms slides between them and his fingers work Jon’s cock at a brutal speed. 

“Is this what you wanted?” Martin nips along his jaw, projecting assurance even as his voice shakes and his rhythm falters. “Didn’t I tell you I’d do this?”

“Please, _please_ ,” Jon cries, uncertain where he’s found the coherence for words around the raging resonance in his head.

“I told you - you want me to give you a baby?”

“ _Yes,_ Martin, please -”

“Do you want me to get you pregnant, fill you up, is that what you want?” Martin presses his face to Jon’s shoulder. “Or do you want me to pull out -”

“ _Don’t_ \- please, Martin.” Jon locks his legs around his back best he can. “Inside me, please, come inside me -”

Martin buries himself deep as he can, sobbing into Jon’s neck as his hips stutter, his fingers seize over Jon’s cock before pulling away. Knowing that Martin is emptying inside him, just like he asked, the way he did the first time they got pregnant, is enough for Jon to follow seconds after in harsh, relentless waves - he can hear himself moaning and feel his back bowing, but it’s distant, washed away, seen as a hazy pink film that seems never ending. Martin whimpers through it with half-formed praises against Jon’s cheek.

“ _No -_ stay, please,” Jon begs when Martin shifts as though to move away. “I need you to stay inside me for a minute.”

“Okay, I won’t move, it’s alright, Jon.”

“Thank you.” Jon runs his hands down Martin’s sides and wraps his arms around his neck. “ _Thank you._ ” He kisses every bit of Martin’s face he can reach, happy to occupy himself with this display of tenderness until he doesn’t feel the need to hold Martin in his body any longer.

When Jon finally releases him, Martin pulls out and turns over with a deep, earnest sigh. “We are… definitely going to have a longer conversation at some point about having more kids. But that was… _something_.”

Jon nods and waves his hand until Martin takes it to hold against his chest.

“I did _not_ know that was a thing for me. Or for you. Or a thing at all, really.” Martin shakes Jon’s hand until he opens his eyes. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Okay. Very okay.” Jon wriggles onto his side. It makes it easy to squeeze his thighs together, pretend he’s holding everything in for a reason even if it won’t matter this time, and to see Martin’s face when he asks, “Was that alright?”

Martin rolls his eyes. “Oh, was it alright, I lasted about ten seconds, Jon, _obviously_ it was alright. You’re good, though? That felt like a lot. I thought I was getting a bit too much for a second. You kind of looked like you were panicking.”

“I didn’t mind. I _liked_ it. I mean, we finished at the same time. We’ve only managed that, what, twice? It was perfect. If that changes you’ll be the first to hear.”

“Good. I just wanted to make sure.” Martin wraps an arm around him and kisses him, soft and sweet. Jon lets out a giddy hum against Martin’s lips before he pulls away.

“Thank you,” Jon says. “For indulging me.”

“Hardly indulging when I had such a nice time.”

“You didn’t have to go along with it.” Most of Jon is delighted with the turn their evening had taken, but part of him recalls Martin’s insistence on double-checking before getting into something. “I know we’d only mentioned another baby once but it’s been on my mind and obviously I’ve been thinking about... how we’d get to that point. I didn’t mean to spring it on you quite like this.” 

Martin shrugs best he can when he’s curled around Jon. “I mean, it’s come up. We’re both aware we want it. Not like you were doing anything drastic without my consent. Neither of us needed to stop, we’re both alright after the fact. We should still definitely talk about it for a lot of reasons, not just because of sex, but it worked out alright. Just a bit of unexpected roleplay that will... maybe not _remain_ roleplay.”

“I had planned to discuss it a bit and maybe get off without any sort of ulterior motives instead of it being a whole situation.” Not that Jon’s upset about the situation. Really, things couldn’t have possibly gone better after his fumbling start. Possible name for his memoir, that.

“Again, a nice time.”

“Still. You were in the middle of something.”

Martin scoffs and shakes his head. “Can’t even remember who that book’s about. Besides, you seemed kind of off all day. I was going to see if you wanted to talk about why you were being so weird, and when you didn’t, ask if you’d let me eat you out for a while, take care of myself, then turn in early.” An old favorite; Jon can appreciate the classics. “But this was fine, too.”

“ _This was fine,_ he says _._ Can’t hold out more than a minute and he says it’s _fine._ ”

“Oh, piss off. I’ll sing your praises later. Bathroom, shower then bed, up you get. Grab the monitor in case the kid wakes up again.”

Jon clings tighter to Martin in protest. He knows he should listen but sometimes the cost is just too high. He’s shaken off easily. Martin stands to tug at Jon’s ankles until he relents and sits upright at the foot of the bed.

Martin tucks Jon’s hair behind his ears and kisses his forehead. “Quit pouting, we’ve made a mess and I’m too old to sleep like this. Besides, if you think you’ve got one more, I’ve already said I want to get my mouth on you. Might as well do it in the shower.”

“I see we’ve resorted to bribery, then.” To which Jon is very, very susceptible.

“If that’s what I have to do.” He cups Jon’s face and turns it up until Jon has no choice but to look him in the eye. It sends shivers down Jon’s spine when he’s directed like this, Martin’s hands gentle enough to be comforting but firm enough that he knows to stay still. “Besides, I'd think you want to make sure we get some time tomorrow morning. We don’t know if it worked.”

“Hmm?” 

“Well, we can’t exactly take a test _now_ , can we?”

Oh, excellent. Jon might have gotten himself into trouble with this one.

Martin steps back towards the bathroom. “We just won’t know so soon. But if we get cleaned up now we can get an early start tomorrow and try again. Then again, and again, until I’ve put a baby in you just like you asked.”

Well, if nothing else, he was right. The trying would be fun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And suddenly, Martin is craving that moment, too, the fizzy champagne lightness when they know it’s real, that they’re having a baby, so he decides to play along.
> 
> “Think this’ll do it, then?” He slides his hands up Jon’s thighs and settles them on his hips, making sure to hold a little tighter than he needs to. “This time I’ll do it right, and tomorrow when we wake up there’ll already be a baby starting to grow inside you? You want to give it another shot?”
> 
> the lads still want to get pregnant and they still have sex about it but this time martin is point of viewing and also it's one of their anniversaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had to spend an hour and a half in an mri tube on friday and it made all the protons in my body align to bring more breeding porn to You, the People. modern medicine truly is a miracle. which is to say this is rushed, and is very likely a genuine hot mess, and i don't know people to read it over so, unfortunately, i've made that everyone else's problem.
> 
> i'm sorry that this prose is so purple it's no longer on the spectrum of visible light.
> 
> a warning that jon, at the very end, has some anxiety about not being able to get pregnant

He’s not really worried about it himself. 

It’ll happen when it happens and not a second before, so there’s no need to worry about it.

That isn’t to say he doesn’t want it terribly, because he _does_. Two sets of little feet pattering along the hall and a whole fresh crop of sonograms stuck to the fridge and pulling out the newborn clothes they never got around to donating and watching Jon grow and change day by day.

He just isn’t letting it stress him out.

But he knows it’s going to bother Jon.

It’s only been three months or so - July, August, into the end of September, yeah, three months. And even if Jon is insistent that he was taking _the progesterone-only one, the doctor said it can happen as soon as I stop,_ it still takes a while. He hasn’t even had a full period yet, so they’re guessing that he’s ovulating based on spotting and Jon’s admittedly underdeveloped awareness of his own body. They’d talked about it and they knew they might be in for a bit of a wait. It’s not even considered a problem medically until they’ve been trying for a year. They’re still a bit short of 25% of that.

But they’ve had two negative tests so far and he can tell how frustrated it’s got him. He’d seen it in the browser still up on the laptop. Just ten tabs about conception tips so far, but he knows given another few weeks he’ll start to get well and truly impatient and it’ll be twenty then thirty then fifty tabs and he’ll start to spin out of control and it’ll be a _plan_.

And he knows Jon. He knows that'll just be something he uses to hurt himself.

Every time Jon follows his plan perfectly and it doesn’t work it’ll be like getting back an exam with a giant zero on it in red ink. And then he’ll be upset about it, and then he’ll feel bad about being upset about it, and then he’ll try to overcompensate and pretend it’s not bothering him, and then he’ll silently wallow in how much it’s _really, really, definitely bothering him_ , and it’ll turn into a bit of an obsession, and then they’ll argue about it, and then they’ll _both_ be upset, and _neither_ of them will want to admit it, and suddenly it’s been weeks of passive aggressive snipes when they _could_ just talk it out, and this _definitely_ isn’t based on experience from when they both assumed the other didn’t want to move back toward London and spent twelve whole days being distant and shitty about it for no reason.

So he’s trying to head that off - not that _planning_ is bad _,_ that’s not it at all! It works for some people and it’s not his place to judge. But he doesn’t want it to be like that. He doesn’t want it to be something that hangs over their heads every second. He doesn’t want to fall into that well, only a couple months without a positive test and then it’s Jon thinking there’s something broken about him and they’re drowning in spreadsheets and anxiety and ovulation trackers and scheduled sex.

And it’s not even like they aren’t having sex. Because it’s… _wow._ Like being newlyweds again, when one of them would drop _husband_ into the conversation and suddenly his clothes have disappeared and they’re in bed or on the couch or over the counter or, once, inadvisably, the kitchen table and Jon’s underneath him and around him and moaning his name like he doesn’t know any other words.

Martin’s almost afraid he’s going to throw a hip out trying to keep up.

He just… wants it to be nice. Happy. _Fun._ He’d never regret it, not for a second, but their first time they were both scared and miserable and hurting and hoping they could offer some sort of comfort with their bodies. It was incredible, and he loved it because it was theirs, but the last thing on either of their minds was Jon ending up pregnant. It would be good to think that they’ve chosen to do this on purpose and with intent and because they’re in the right place for it. He doesn’t want having a baby to be a Terrible Upsetting Puzzle To Be Solved. He doesn’t want to turn sex into something that hurts them.

But then he’s got another problem.

It’s hot _._ Like, _really, really hot_ in a way he genuinely never thought about before.

He knew, obviously, how attracted he was to Jon generally. And he knew how much he liked seeing Jon while he was pregnant - the way his cheeks filled out, when his breasts grew from little palmfuls to heavy and round and impossibly sensitive, how he was _glowing_ , a description that seemed so ridiculous until he saw it written over Jon’s body. 

From the first little curve over his waistband where Jon took to settling his hand at every moment, to the last days when he’d prowled around the house in nothing but his pants, nursing bra, and the tangle of elastic straps that turned into a back support to ease the weight of his belly.

When he was rounding on Martin, wild-eyed and frustrated, to say that _there isn’t any research to prove it, but anecdotally they say that sex should help induce labor, and if this baby doesn’t get out of me soon it’ll be too big to get out at all, so I think it’s in everyone’s best interest if you get undressed now, and I’m leaving my back brace on._

Like. He’d been _so absolutely into that_. Jon tugging down the pair of boxers he’d swiped from Martin and rolling over to his knees, head resting on his folded arms. Hurried sex with the duvet spread over the mattress because the good sheets were still drying and he didn’t want to sleep on the scratchy spare set. Trying to inject a bit of romance into it but giggling instead every time he looked at the black elastic around Jon’s waist and stretching up to his shoulders.

Thinking about it, he probably could have drawn that line. If point one is ‘finding his husband is unbearably hot when he’s pregnant,’ it makes sense that point two is ‘getting his husband pregnant would be unbearably hot.’ And Jon’s into it, too! Even when it had just been a maybe, a thought, a whim, everything Martin said put that wide-eyed look on Jon’s face and made him tighten up the way he does when he’s too excited to relax. It’s a mutual indulgence.

So he has to play into it. But also tone it down. And have fun, but not let it be too real so Jon doesn’t get too in his head about it, but not let it be too lighthearted or Jon will think he’s making a joke of it at his expense.

It's a fine line to balance.

They haven’t been sleeping so much as dozing for a good long while, insisting they need to clean up and go to bed properly after their little celebration.

“Seriously, we’re going to be miserable in the morning if we don’t.”

“I know.”

“If you know then let me go so I can get up.”

“No.” Jon throws his leg over Martin’s hips to match the arm over his chest and squeezes him with all his limited strength. “I’ll do no such thing.”

“Jon, I’m still sticky and I’m not interested in dealing with tomorrow’s morning breath if we don’t get up.”

“I kissed you with French onion soup breath earlier.”

Martin twists his fingers into Jon’s hair and tugs it gently, just enough to let him know he’s being scolded. “Yeah, and it was questionable when it was mostly still fresh. In another eight hours it’ll technically be a biohazard.”

“You kissed me next to that biohazard sofa. You _sat on_ that sofa. Are you saying you liked the radioactive furniture more than your husband? The only husband you’ve got? You’ll get mystery fluids all over your only jeans, but you can’t kiss your one husband because he made a bad anniversary soup choice?”

He’s a brat, he’s _such_ a brat. _Oh, Martin, how could you forsake me_ , _I’m going to pout about brushing my teeth._ “The sofa didn’t spill our lube then make me sleep in the wet spot.” 

“The cap was loose and we didn’t end up needing it anyways so it’s hardly _my_ fault. And that sofa _was_ a wet spot, but if you want to leave me then I hope you’re _very_ happy together. At least someone will get to kiss you.”

Martin tugs his hair again. “We need to clean ourselves up. And get the pillows off the floor since _someone_ decided to toss them off the bed.”

“They were in my way. And I’m comfortable.”

“I know. If we go now, we can come back, and you can do as much cuddling as you like, in sheets without a mile-wide lube spill and with pillows.”

Martin can feel Jon considering. He tenses just a little, like he might actually take the initiative to get up instead of staying in bed until they’re both too disgusting to skip showering like he tries to do every other time because he’s an absolute sap and can’t survive without extensive post-coital snuggling. Of course, he doesn’t get up, he just goes limp again and kisses Martin’s neck and says, “In a minute.”

“Fine. But if you decide to keep me here all night, prepare yourself for a truly horrible good morning kiss.”

Jon shuffles around until his chin rests on Martin’s chest and spends a few long moments looking. He does that from time to time, gets still and soft and wistful and just… _looks_. Martin doesn’t mind, it gives him the chance to do the same. Black and grey woven into the half-hearted French braid barely taming the front of his hair, long eyelashes on dark eyes, fine, faint wrinkles and round, flat scars and salt-and-pepper stubble that’s starting to feel soft instead of scratchy as he gets lazy about shaving, like a work of art too fine to be shown in a gallery.

Jon sounds so impossibly tender when he asks, “Can I kiss you now or do I have to wait until morning?”

Martin’s heart stutters and stumbles and wants to spill out of his mouth so he can hand it to Jon directly. He runs his fingers over Jon’s brow and cups his cheek.

“You can kiss me whenever you like, you know that.”

Jon clambers over to settle onto Martin properly, legs around his waist and elbows supporting him and their bodies pressed together, both of them still loose-limbed and soft. Jon looks, again, with aching gentleness, then kisses him.

He’s halting and hesitant, caught somewhere between that giddy playfulness that brought them to bed earlier and the quiet melancholy that comes over them both at the strangest moments and tumbling between the two in turns. He flits from shy pecks to sloppy brushes of tongue then back and forth like he’s not sure he’s allowed to take what he needs.

Martin waits, lets him lead, so Jon can follow whatever path he’s on to find out what he wants. He rests one hand at Jon’s hip and holds the back of his neck with the other, a gentle weight to ground him. It’s not long before he can feel little flexes and rolls, little hitches in his breath where their chests touch, and the way his kisses deepen and linger.

Jon pulls away to look again, then sits up to set his hands against Martin’s chest. “Can we…”

“Do you want to?” Martin can already feel the heat building, but he’s never needed much to get going and having his naked husband splayed on top of him after a rousing bout of dating-not-wedding-anniversary sex ( _we'll celebrate both, if I want two anniversaries I'll have two, Martin, September and January are far enough apart)_ and the bubblegum pink burst of love in his heart is more than enough to do it.

“I want to.” But Martin isn’t sure about the look on Jon’s face, and something must show on his own. “It’s… I have a good feeling. I... I don’t know. Even if the feeling is wrong, I still want you. I just… there’s something. Something good.”

But if that good feeling _is_ wrong it’s another strike.

“Martin, it’s… One more. Just tonight, then we’ll set it to the side for a bit and take a break from trying for a baby and go from there. But I want to try again, if we can.”

Huh.

He can’t quite tell where Jon’s at right now. If he’s really content with the route they’re taking or if he’s already hitched himself up on a cross of his own making for some manufactured deficiency. But he looks... small, nervous, perched over Martin’s waist with his fingers tangling together anxiously and hair falling loose because he couldn’t be bothered to braid it properly, and so, so, so hopeful that this could be it, that _this time_ it’ll stick, and soon they can crack open another three special tests-with-weeks-indicator and count to one hundred eighty seconds and this time they’ll say PREGNANT across the little screens.

And suddenly, Martin is craving that moment, too, the fizzy champagne lightness when they know it’s _real_ , that they’re _having a baby_ , so he decides to play along.

“Think this’ll do it, then?” He slides his hands up Jon’s thighs and settles them on his hips, making sure to hold a little tighter than he needs to. “This time I’ll do it right, and tomorrow when we wake up there’ll already be a baby starting to grow inside you? You want to give it another shot?”

“Please.”

He flips Jon back onto the bed and rolls to hover over him.

And, god, he’s like something out of a dream - better, honestly, Martin could never have dreamed an image so perfect as this. The way his hair falls against the sheets and his cheeks darken and lips part in a near-silent plea. How his hands come to rest against the bed and his back arches up in eagerness and his legs spread open like it’s a reflex, as though his body knows that’s the place Martin belongs. His eyelashes fluttering in anticipation. His chest, still soft and full, heaving above his mismatched ribs. His head tilting back to show Martin the places he wants to be touched.

Martin kisses Jon again, quickly, then moves to his neck. He bruises, now, so sweetly, faint shadows that he presses his fingertips into for days when he thinks Martin isn’t looking. There will be plenty for him to worry at, trailing from just under his jaw to the place his pulse is barely contained to the dip of his collar to the swell of his chest.

“Do you remember?” Martin asks, leaving a kiss against the barely-there stretch marks along the side of his breast, trailing up as Jon presses into his mouth. “How sore they were? How they were so sensitive, so tender? How every touch had you near tears and begging me to help you?"

He makes his way across to the other, circles around Jon’s nipple but never quite touches. Jon’s hand tangles into Martin’s hair, holding tight but not guiding, knowing the more he pushes the more Martin will dance away from what he wants. When he decides Jon’s behaved well enough Martin takes one nipple into his mouth and gives the other a sharp pinch. Jon moans, explosive in the silence of their bedroom, before pulling his hand from Martin’s hair to cover his own mouth.

Martin takes his time. He bites the tender skin of Jon’s tits, soothes with his lips and his tongue and his soft praises, teases with his broad palm and nimble fingers and blunt nails, luxuriates in every whine and wail and whimper. He kisses every bruise on his breasts then between and down to Jon’s stomach. The skin there is sparsely striped with stretch marks, a little strip of loose skin that Martin can already see changing from flat and still-soft to tight and round and heavy, the place their baby will take shape.

“I couldn’t stand to keep my hands off you. When you started showing, I wanted to toss out your clothes so I could look at you every second. Your tits filling in and that little curve that kept _growing_.” Martin kisses lower and lower, stops just shy of Jon’s cock to turn his attention to Jon’s thighs, leaving bites and bruises as a reminder of every word, for Jon to touch over the following days.

“Every morning was like waking up into another dream. There he is, Jon in my clothes, in my bed, with my baby inside him.” Jon moans and rolls his hips sharply at that. His hands are fisted into the sheets as though to keep himself from drifting off into the wind and his mouth is parted and panting out eager huffs.

“You like thinking about that, don’t you? That I put a baby inside you without even trying. That I fucked you twice and that’s all it took.”

“ _Martin, please_.”

“Do you remember? The first night, when you pulled me on top of you and begged for me?" Martin nips the crease of his thigh. "Early the next morning, when it was still dark, when I had you bent over the sink so you could see yourself in the mirror?” Martin drops another lingering kiss just above his cock, slides his hands up Jon’s thighs to press his legs even further apart. Jon’s chest is heaving and his stomach tenses to the point of shaking. “Do you still think about it?”

“Please, please, _please-_ ”

“When I fucked you open and came inside you and we made a baby? Is that what you want? Do you want me to give you a baby, Jon?”

“Martin, _Martin,_ please, I want-”

Before he can finish the thought, Martin takes his cock into his mouth. Jon’s too far to even make a sound - the breath leaves him in a sharp sigh and his hands reach out to grasp Martin’s hair again.

It’s nothing for Martin to press three fingers into Jon, and it doesn’t take long for a fourth to follow. He’s desperate, greedy for the attention, wet and wanting and still open from only a short time before when Martin had rocked into him slow and joyful and drunk on the memory of their wedding night, the latter half when they’d finally been through arguing, though that anniversary is still months away. His hips can’t even keep a steady rhythm, instead pressing into Martin’s mouth and hand in a frenzy of rolls, out of time with his breathless begging.

Martin stops worrying that Jon’s ready and focuses instead on bringing him over the edge, curling his fingers instead of spreading, dragging his tongue over his cock. Within the space of a minute, Jon’s back arches off the bed and his hands tug Martin’s hair hard enough to hurt and he clenches around Martin’s fingers in a staggering tempo that lasts longer than seems possible.

Once Jon’s loosened his grip, Martin makes his way back up, over his hips, his stomach, his tits, his neck, kisses him slow and deep and easy. Jon cradles his face between shaking hands.

“You okay?” Martin brushes his thumb over faint tear tracks and damp eyelashes.

“I’m good.” Jon nods as if to emphasize his words.

Martin wants to believe him, but he can’t help the little tingles of worry that he can feel in his fingertips. He rolls to his side and brings Jon with him. Jon plants his face in Martin’s chest, lets himself be held.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Jon leans into him harder, like he’s going to burrow until he’s inside Martin’s skin. “I’m fine,” he says, muffled against Martin’s chest. “I just need a minute. I still want to keep going. If _you_ want to keep going. Just. I need to… I need a minute.”

It doesn’t put the worry away, but Martin trusts him to know his limits and make that call. He takes the time to run his hand up and down Jon’s back, counting every pass, one, two, ten, twenty-five, fifty, trying to find where he overstepped. It seemed good in the moment, but he can’t shake the voice in the back of his head that says otherwise.

And that thought disappears completely because Jon’s snaked a hand down between them and it’s wrapped around his half-hard cock. Despite the things he’d been saying, he nearly forgot he was supposed to be making good on his promise to give Jon a baby because he’d been so focused on making him come. 

“ _Oh-_ kay. Still going, then?”

Jon nods again, pulls away to look at Martin’s face. “If that’s alright.”

“Sounds good,” Martin says, his voice high and feeble.

With a faint laugh, Jon kisses him again and starts a steady pace, rapid strokes and quick turns of his wrist until he's satisfied with what he feels. Martin hadn't much cared for this before - he could do it more efficiently himself - but it’s _Jon,_ and Jon knows what he's doing, had dedicated just as much time to learning what Martin likes as he had for Jon. His hand is just this side of too-tight, twisting and teasing, and it's not long before Martin’s groaning into every kiss. He bites gently at Martin's bottom lip and shuffles away.

"Where do you want me?"

He wants him anywhere, everywhere, how can he choose when he's drowning in this display? Jon stretching like a cat in a sunbeam. Straightening to re-tie his hair in a lazy little bun where it’s come loose. Slouching once he’s happy with it and looking down at Martin in anticipation.

“Turn over.” Jon rolls to his front, gets his knees beneath him and leaves his face settled into his arms.

Martin moves behind him and takes in the view - he wants to linger and appreciate, but he can’t waste anymore time now Jon’s practically _presenting_ himself, back in a deep bow and canting his hips back toward Martin and lifting just enough off his arms to look over his shoulder in invitation.

So he takes Jon’s waist in one hand, lines himself up with the other, and presses in.

He wants to bury himself under this moment, live beneath Jon’s breathy little moan and the way he arches his back further and the pleased little shudder when Martin’s fully inside him. The feeling is incredible, of course it is, Jon tight and wet and clenching around his cock, like Jon was made to take him, two parts of a whole being, but it’s more - Jon trusts him to do this.

Jon lets him inside his body. Jon lets him take his waist in his hands. Lets him snap his hips forward in an unforgiving rhythm. Lets him repeat the motion until the little sighs turn to low hums turn to outright moans, breathy and broken into a staccato by each thrust. He gets to do this, he’s the _only one_ who gets to do this, no one else. Martin is the one who’s going to watch Jon’s body change, and he’ll know he’s the one who did it.

Martin slides a hand around Jon’s waist to rest against his stomach. The touch has Jon lifting himself off the bed, rising to all fours so he can push into Martin’s movements. Martin releases his hips and falls forward to cover his back, kiss his shoulder, his neck, pressing into him with short, urgent rolls that have his hands fisting into the sheets. He’d hoped to hold out longer than this, but the visions of Jon in this position before, as he had been, clumsy under the weight of what they had made together, have him flying toward the atmosphere and he isn’t sure how much more he can take.

“Is this what you want, Jon?” Martin asks, lips against his ear. “You want me to give you a baby?”

Jon doesn’t reply, but Martin can hear the hitch in his breath and feel the way he tightens. He presses his hand into the stretch marks under Jon’s navel. 

“Do you miss it? When you were so heavy and round and full? When your belly would stretch out your clothes until they couldn’t hold it all in? When everyone could look at you and know what we did to make you like that?”

Jon isn’t even making a sound at this point, mouth hanging open and eyes screwed shut and gasping in desperate breaths. Martin tries to maintain his rhythm but he can feel himself losing his composure.

“Is that what you want me to do? Do you want me to come inside you and put another baby in you?”

One of Jon’s hands reaches back to hold Martin’s where it’s resting on his stomach. He clings, threading their fingers together, presses into his own belly like he can will it into existence. Martin hears him, a wavering, near-silent chorus, _please please please please please,_ before he turns his face toward Martin, flushed cheeks and tear tracks, and begs in a breathless voice, “Please, I want a baby, please, Martin, I want you to give me a baby, please, please, I want to have your baby-”

Martin buries himself as deep as he can. He doesn’t even have the strength to keep moving through it, just presses his hips against Jon and comes harder than he can remember coming in his life. He wonders if there _is_ something to just willing it into existence, if he wants it enough at just the right millisecond, it’ll happen. He puts everything from the top of his head to the tips of his toes into the feeling, tells the universe that this is the moment, they’ve done it, this time it worked.

When he feels less like a brick has been dropped on his head, he turns his focus back to Jon. His head hangs low and his legs are quivering, like he’s focusing on staying still. Martin kisses just between his neck and shoulder.

“Good?” he asks.

Jon nods frantically. “I was close.” It’s _not quite_ petulant but it’s nearly there.

Martin laughs weakly, still breathless. “Don’t worry, I’m not leaving you behind.” He doesn’t bother pulling out, even as he starts to feel overstimulated and overwhelmed - Jon has taken to asking him to stay inside, wrapping around him until he’s ready to let go. Instead, he reaches a hand under to take Jon’s clit between his fingers, starts working to bring him over the edge.

At the first touch Jon whimpers and presses into him, as though he could pull Martin even deeper into his body. He doesn’t move into Martin’s hand, just keeps pushing back onto Martin’s cock in one steady motion, muscles so tight it seems he might snap all of them at once.

It doesn’t take long. Barely a minute or two of attention and he’s clenching and keening and calling Martin’s name, leaving Martin wincing through the feeling as flexes around his softening cock.

Jon swats at Martin’s hip to let him know he’s allowed to pull out, then flops down onto the bed the second he does. Martin settles in beside him and pulls him in close. He’s still tense, letting himself be hugged but not relaxing.

“Are you okay?” Martin asks. Jon hums. “Jon.”

Nothing.

“Jon, look at me.”

He doesn’t comply, instead pulling his arms in tight and pressing his forehead against Martin’s chest. Within a moment, Martin feels what has to be tears.

“Okay, come on, I need you to look at me.”

Martin leans away and catches Jon before he can press his face into the bed, cradling his cheeks in his hands.

Jon’s not much of a crier. A few stray tears, when he’s anxious or overwhelmed or upset or if Martin’s got him pinned to the mattress, but Martin doesn’t need all ten fingers to count the number of times he’s seen Jon cry, actually _properly_ cry.

“I’m fine,” Jon says, starting to pull back.

“And I’m not stupid, so don’t try it.”

He starts to get irritated, Martin can see the little furrow of his brow, but he just turns his face out of Martin’s hands and rolls flat onto his back. Martin stays in place and lets him work out what he wants.

After a few deep breaths, Jon wipes his eyes and says, “I don’t think I should have asked you to do this tonight.”

Oh.

Martin was right, then. He did go too far.

“Okay. Do you need me to give you some space or do you want me to stay here?”

“ _Don’t_ \- don’t go. I just… I knew what we were going to do and I knew I was already in a bit of a mood about it and I asked if we could try again anyways. I just didn’t think it would hit this hard.”

Martin wants to snatch him up and wrap around him and find a way to soothe the ache, but he keeps to his side of the bed.

“It’s okay. We’ve hit my limits before when I didn’t expect it. We just need to talk about what the line is.”

“It wasn’t about-” Jon huffs. He rubs his eyes again, harsh movements that show his frustration, but it doesn’t keep more tears from trickling out. “The sex wasn’t the issue. It’s just… Today’s the day. Two years ago today, it was our first time. I thought it… today just felt _special._ We didn’t even have to _try_ then, we just _did it,_ and then we had a baby with _no trouble at all_. Wanting one didn’t even factor in at that point. And now, we’re trying on purpose. We’re settled and we have a house and a life and we aren’t on the run and the world isn’t about to end, and I can’t get pregnant and I _don’t know what I’m doing wrong._ ”

He doesn’t break down, but it’s a near thing judging from the sharp hitch in his breath at the end. Martin takes his hand, not wanting to press further in case he makes it worse.

“You aren’t doing anything wrong, Jon. I know you want it to happen as soon as possible, but we haven’t been at this for long. Not even three full months yet. It doesn’t mean you aren’t doing everything-”

“But what if it doesn’t happen at all? What if we keep trying and keep getting our hopes up and keep buying tests and none of them ever come back positive?”

“I don’t think that’ll be the case, but you know what? If it is? Then we’ll get past it. It’ll hurt and it’ll be shitty and we may never stop wanting another baby, but we’ll be happy that we have a perfect kid already and we’ll keep moving.”

Jon cradles Martin’s hand against his chest. He taps his thumb in an anxious little rhythm. “I know they wouldn’t be guaranteed to like each other, Georgie and her siblings were at each others’ throats constantly, but it would be someone in her corner. Someone who could be there for her when it mattered, if we couldn’t.” He squeezes Martin’s hand and turns to look at him. “It was so lonely. All I had was a pile of mildewed second-hand books that I ended up too scared to read. I don’t want Robin to grow up like that.”

Martin knows the feeling, so deep it could have killed him, so deep it almost did. The aching emptiness that still strikes when the house is dark and he’s too far gone to hear Jon breathing beside him or Robin’s little huffs on the monitor. He’ll climb back out of his own grave if he has to, if it means he can keep her from ever feeling that way.

“She won’t. We’re going to make sure of it.”

“We can’t know that.” Jon’s going to suffocate, if he doesn’t stop piling things onto his own chest. Martin makes the decision that they need a break from this, it’s too heavy for one night.

“Even if she’s an only child, she’s going to be the most loved kid on the planet. We’ll put every other parent to shame. We’ll go to meetings with her teachers and when we walk in people will say _there go the Blackwoods, did you hear they won a Nobel Prize for parenting?_ ”

It does the trick and Jon smiles, small and fragile - he takes the offer, lets the weight float away until daylight, when everything seems less scary.

“We’ll be that good at it?”

“We _are_ that good at it. I mean, she’s got incredible manners already, she said ‘pease’ before she took my toast out of my hand this morning and dropped it on the floor.”

“Be teaching ettiquette courses by age three at this rate.”

“Our little social norms prodigy.”

Jon heaves a heavy sigh and rolls to his side. Martin lifts his arm for Jon to burrow under and wraps him in a hug.

“Whatever happens,” Martin says, “I love you, and I’m going to continue to love you, and we’ll get through it, I promise.”

“I love you, too.”

Martin decides that it’s not worth the trouble of getting up just yet, so he pulls the ragged old quilt up from the corner of the bed with his foot, covers them over, wet spot and all, and resigns himself to a radioactive good morning kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone leave me comments i need constant validation from people on the internet
> 
> also i got something else in the hopper re: jmart baby but i set up some stuff in the first chapter of this that i might want to explore in the future but i couldn't make it fit with that jmart baby thing so i'm just going to call them separate. just in case anybody else ever thinks it's connected when i get around to it, those dots are not lined up my dudes, because it's more work that i don't have the energy for. also i just thought robin blackwood is a pretty name and the other baby has a different name.

**Author's Note:**

> if there are any tags or warnings or things i should note up top let me know, i haven't posted a fanned fiction in like 12 years
> 
> i unmoderated comments because nobody was transphobic last time, so you all get your judging privileges back. good job and behave.


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